


The Wrong End of the Telescope

by Canaan



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaan/pseuds/Canaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fantasy is...a way of looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope."  --Dr. Seuss</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong End of the Telescope

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink_las round 1, challenge 4 on LJ. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's the story that wanted to be written. Thanks to Mimarie for the post-challenge beta read.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Jack or Torchwood. Please don't sue.

It wasn't the bounce of her breasts that caught Jack's eye...not that he wasn't enjoying the sight as she spoke animatedly with a woman lounging on a nearby chaise. He could have walked right by that familiar sweep of long, dark hair and the artless curve of her lips, no matter how delectable they looked. But the radiance in her face captured him: a glow quite independent of the establishment's warm lighting. He found himself stopped outside the windowed storefront, staring.

There was no little gap between her front teeth. It was probably for the best.

She caught his eyes and gave him a friendly wave, and he blinked. He could see her laugh, even though he couldn't hear it through the crystoplast window, and she beckoned him inside. When he still didn't move, she pushed back in her chair and rose slowly to her feet, the swell of her belly clearing the tabletop like a sunrise. Six, maybe seven months along, he thought, wearing a green wrap dress and no shoes. She tried again, broadening the sweep of her arm to comic proportions as she gestured him in.

How could he refuse that invitation?

The bioscanner at the door blinked green, affirming his health, and he left the crowded dockside corridor behind him. She padded over to the bar as he paid the price of admission. "For a moment there, I thought you might walk away," she teased.

He looked at her face: more oval than heart-shaped, with grey eyes instead of brown, and no freckles. "Nah. Never any chance of that," he admitted as his gaze drifted lower, admiring the cleavage framed by the dress's simple neckline and the burgeoning belly below.

She cupped his cheek in one small hand, drawing his eyes back to the tender look on her face. "Who do you need me to be?" she asked softly.

 _Am I really that transparent?_ He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Gwen. I need you to be Gwen."

***

  
"Let me," he murmured. She paused, smiling over her shoulder as he stepped up behind her, untying the sash that held the dress in place. The loose edges billowed a bit as she stepped out of her sandals and turned to face him. Her lips begged to be kissed, and for this Gwen there was no Rhys--no reason he should stop himself. The kiss lingered, soft and sweet, and he settled his hands on her shoulders, sliding her dress down. The weight of the fabric dragged it to the floor. He moaned softly into her mouth, his hands slipping around her back and down her spine, finding only bare skin beneath his touch.

She drew back a fraction of an inch and whispered, "Look at me, Jack."

He stepped back and looked. As ripe and full and lovely as he'd known she would be, her belly big with Rhys's--no, with _his_ child. He wouldn't be jealous of a man who didn't exist, not now and in this moment. "God, I want you," he breathed.

Gwen smiled.

The room was small and cozy, with a mirror in one corner and a small chest of drawers by the bed. The two of them scattered his clothing across so much of it that it was positively homey by the time he was naked. He ended up sprawled on the bed with her laughing in his arms.

Her breasts were full and sensitive. He licked and stroked, nuzzled and teased, drawing gasps and soft sighs before working his way lower. "And why is it _you're_ the one having all the fun?" she complained. "Oof!"

He stopped, sitting up so he could see her face. "'Oof'? I wasn't expecting 'oof.'"

She rolled her eyes and captured his hand in hers. "Not you, silly," she said, drawing it to her belly.

The flutter under his palm stole his breath in a way he thought he was long past. He found himself grinning stupidly, rubbing small circles where their son kicked. "Mummy's little footballer, isn't he?"

" _Especially_ when I'm trying to do something else," she agreed, glaring pointedly at the spot. Her eyes sparkled with exasperated joy.

He dropped a kiss on the site of the little tyrant's antics. "I'll just have to distract you, then."

He lay down behind her, supporting her body with his and rubbing himself against her arse while his hands roamed her breasts and belly. She made a frustrated little noise. "Stop _teasing_ already, Jack--I won't break!" He kissed the column of her neck, just beneath her ear, and felt her body welcome him as he sank into her soft heat. She moaned in the best kind of way as he moved gently inside her, enjoying the slow build of their pleasure.

When she gasped his name, desperately close, he reached around the curve of her belly to stroke a fingertip over her clit. She cried out her release, clenching around him, and he let those waves of pleasure carry him over the edge. "Gwen, oh God, Gwen...I love you..."

"I love you," she breathed. "I love you, Jack."

They lay together for a while, drifting contentedly in the afterglow. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her, and if it wasn't quite right, well, it was still good.

"Thank you," he said at last. She turned in his arms and smiled up at him. He hesitated, thinking twice about it, but finally asked: "What's your name?"

The smile turned into a grin. "Laurie. Whoever your Gwen is, she's a lucky woman."

Gwen. Gwen was safe at home, with her husband and their child. Safe on her own world, in her own time, three sectors and a thousand years away from Jack Harkness and his habit of getting everyone he loved killed in the end.

"Yes," he agreed wistfully. "She is."


End file.
